


bulletproof

by thedevilsgarden



Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27232414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilsgarden/pseuds/thedevilsgarden
Summary: Maggie is sick of hurting - herself, and the people she loves.
Relationships: Elena/Queen Maeve (The Boys)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 101





	bulletproof

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: There is one instance of sexual assault in this fic, and one rape scene that I tried to keep minimalist and non-graphic. If you want to skip these scenes, simply scroll past any scene that Homelander is in. There is also discussion of alcoholism and addiction throughout.

Maggie’s mother dies on a Wednesday.

It’s a small funeral, a mix of close friends and family gathered together at the gravesite. The pastor reads a short passage from the Bible, something about heaven and hope, as Maggie’s father sobs silently into a handkerchief. She holds his hand, watches his shoulders shake with every breath.

Just before the casket is lowered into the ground, Maggie shifts closer to her father and gives his hand a supportive squeeze. There is a crunch, like boots over gravel; her father curses and wrenches his arm away. 

Too tight, Maggie thinks. 

She keeps forgetting.

* * * * *

At sixteen, Maggie has sex with David Yang in the back seat of his dad’s pick-up. She’s a little nervous at first, but David is kind and gentle, and that’s a lot more than most girls get. And it’s good, mostly. Right up until the end, when Maggie clenches so hard she breaks the guy’s penis. 

A dull snap, and David screams. He rolls onto his back as Maggie hovers over him, half-naked and trembling. 

“Oh my god, David? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry-”

David makes a strangled sound and tries to breathe through the pain. 

“Hospital,” he wheezes. 

Maggie nods, steps over him and clambers into the front seat. She runs three red lights before she pulls up at the entrance to the nearest ER. 

David recovers just fine after the surgery, but he never speaks to her again, and Maggie doesn’t blame him.

* * * * *

The day of graduation, there’s a guy in Maggie’s year who starts teasing her about her abilities. He calls her a freak, calls her unnatural, and Maggie knows he’s just trying to get a rise out of her, but it still takes every last ounce of her willpower not to throw him across the room. And for a minute there, she’s pretty proud of herself for taking the high road, for refusing to be the monster he thinks she is. But then he grabs her by the arm and yanks her toward him, and her reflexes take over.

It's only one punch, but it breaks his nose and knocks out two of his teeth. The cops arrive minutes later, and Maggie spends her graduation in handcuffs down at the local police station. They give her a phone call, which she uses to ring her dad, but it turns out he can’t bail her out of jail until his shift ends. (Maggie is just relieved he’s at work, and not holed up in a casino with his phone turned off.) 

She expects the arresting officer to take her back to her cell, let her sweat it out behind bars for the next six hours. Instead, Officer Garrett offers her a seat by his desk and hands her a packet of Doritos.

“Y’know, I knew a supe once,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “When I was a kid. Guy controlled fire. Y’know, made it appear, made it do things.”

Maggie pops a chip in her mouth. “A pyro?”

“Yeah, that’s it. And…this one time, we’re at his house and his mom’s making dinner. And I dunno, something startles him, right? And all of a sudden, the fire from the stove just explodes, and there are flames everywhere, and his mom’s hair is on fire…I mean, she was okay, but…”

Now the officer is looking at her with an unfamiliar sort of understanding.

“I used to think being a supe was a lucky draw, that you guys all hit the jackpot,” he says. “But it really kinda sucks, doesn’t it?”

Maggie looks away, feels the unexpected urge to cry. “Yeah,” she says. “It kinda does.”

* * * * *

Maggie turns eighteen and her agent flies her to New York to start establishing her brand: a B-List hero destined for the Seven. It’s bullshit; Maggie would rather be at some small, liberal arts university, nursing a hangover in the last row of a lecture hall, but her father would never agree to that. So instead she throws herself into her training, works on a wide range of martial arts, which she starts to enjoy, and spends her nights patrolling the streets, looking for trouble. 

Her first night in Manhattan, Maggie heads to a bar in the village, downs shot after shot, and hooks up with the first person who flirts with her. It becomes a sort of routine after that, the booze and the sex and the blackouts. The alcohol distracts her, relaxes her after a long day of training and patrol, and the sex does the same, even if she never remembers it. It’s a blur of alcohol and pretty faces, harmless at first, just a way to dull the pain of being different, of a fraught and difficult childhood – the usual sort of trauma. 

But then she starts drinking when she’s alone, too, and eventually, even on the job. Because as Maggie soon discovers, it is easier to have an absent dad, no friends, and a dead mother when you’re too intoxicated to think. 

(It’s harder to hurt people, too.)

* * * * *

It continues like that for a year, waking up drunk and going to bed the same way, until it finally catches up with her. Maggie is on patrol, an hour or so after her last drink. A woman starts pushing a stroller across the street, just as a car runs straight through a red light, and Maggie is so buzzed she almost doesn’t clock it. 

When she does, she sprints over and wraps her arms around the pair to shield them, as the car crashes into her back, folding up like a loose accordion. The mom and the baby are unharmed, and the driver is carried off by EMTs. 

Everyone within the vicinity claps and cheers, and Maggie’s agent is thrilled when a video of the accident is posted online and viewed three million times. But Maggie is too shaken to celebrate, because she nearly missed it, and it is one thing to destroy herself, but she won’t sacrifice anyone else.

She finds a late-night AA meeting in midtown and starts going twice a week.

* * * * *

It’s late January, just after midnight, and the sidewalks are covered in a dangerous mixture of ice and snow. Maggie is walking around in civilian clothes, trying to clear her head, when a young woman a few paces ahead of her slips on a patch of ice. Before she can land face first on the pavement, Maggie catches her by her shoulders and steadies her. The woman instinctively grabs the front of Maggie’s coat for support. 

“Oh my god, thank you,” she breathes, flashing Maggie a grateful smile. “Almost cracked my head open.”

“No problem.” 

The woman releases her and adjusts her purse on her shoulder. She’s pretty, Maggie thinks. Dark hair, dimpled cheeks, a smile that is warm and unencumbered.

“Well,” the woman says. “Thanks for being my knight in shining UGG boots.”

“Sure.” Maggie ducks her head. “Just glad you’re all right.”

There’s that smile again, wider this time. Something about it tugs pleasantly at Maggie’s chest, makes her yearn for something she can’t quite name. It’s enough to raise her defenses, and Maggie shoves her hands deep in her pockets to hide herself away. Because lately she doesn’t know what to do with her hands when she isn’t in costume, when she can’t pose with them at her waist like a goddamn action figure.

The woman takes a step back, gestures to her right. 

“Well, I’d better get home.” 

It’s starting to snow again. Downy flakes catch in the woman’s hair and stick to the ends of her lashes, and Maggie feels a rare surge of want. 

“I’ll walk with you.” The words are out before she can second guess them. 

The woman exhales a puff of white air, shivers a bit against the cold. “No, that’s okay. It isn’t far.”

“It’s late,” Maggie points out. “You shouldn’t walk home alone.”

“I probably shouldn’t talk to strangers, either.” There is a playful lilt to her voice, and she extends her hand. “I’m Elena.”

Maggie takes it, but doesn’t shake. Instead she holds it delicately and gives it a gentle squeeze. (Not too tight, not too tight.)

“I’m Maggie.”

* * * * *

Their first date is at a small café in midtown. When the waiter approaches for drink orders, Elena orders them two mimosas; Maggie quickly asks for orange juice instead. 

“I’m an addict,” Maggie explains, surprised at her own honesty. “Or, I was.”

“Oh.” Elena turns to the waiter. “Then make it two glasses of orange juice.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to-”

“Believe me,” Elena says with an easy smile. “You’re saving me from myself.”

The waiter takes both of their cocktail menus, and Elena starts to peruse the brunch options as though nothing significant has just happened. She makes everything seamless, simple, even the difficult things. And Maggie feels good with her, hates herself a little bit less when Elena is teasing her about her ugly sweaters and stealing pieces of French toast off of her plate. 

“Okay,” Maggie says, gesturing to Elena’s plate with her fork. “Why did you order waffles if you’re just gonna eat my French toast?”

“I’m eating both,” Elena insists, but it’s muffled through a mouthful of food. She spears a strawberry with her fork. “Sharing is caring, or some shit.”

“That’s Barney. You’re quoting a purple dinosaur.”

Elena laughs and spears another strawberry. There is some maple syrup on her chin and the sleeve of her dress has an orange juice stain, but she is lovely in the early morning light, and Maggie can’t stop looking at her. (She doesn’t want the date to end.)

“Will you go somewhere with me?” she asks. “Tomorrow?”

Elena nudges her foot under the table and smirks, says, “Someone’s eager.”

She’s teasing, but Maggie still wonders. “Is that too soon?” 

Elena shakes her head, steals a slice of banana from Maggie’s plate. “It’s perfect.”

* * * * *

Elena kisses her in the middle of Central Park. It’s slow and tender and she holds Maggie’s face in her hands like she’s something precious. And the moment Elena’s lips press against her own, something inside of Maggie just clicks. She feels awake, impossibly warm, as though somewhere deep down in her subconscious, in the darkest depths of her mind, the frayed, stormy parts of her have settled. 

Elena pulls back, just a few inches, and then Maggie steals a second kiss, and a third. There is an intensity driving her, a need that she’s never felt before. She presses kiss after kiss to her mouth, her cheeks, her jaw. At some point Elena breaks away with a gasp, gently putting pressure on Maggie’s collar bone.

“Woah, slow down.” Elena tries to catch her breath.

“Sorry.”

Elena smiles not unkindly, says, “There's no rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

Maggie nods. “Okay.”

* * * * *

It doesn’t take long before intimate touches become commonplace when they’re together. It’s something Maggie secretly treasures; she hasn’t been on the receiving end of such soft attention for over a decade, and something about receiving any kind of touch from Elena makes her feel grounded in the moment. 

Maggie loves holding her hand, hugging her, just sitting next to her on the couch. And Elena isn’t especially tactile, not more than the average person, but she doesn’t mind the attention. On some level, she seems to get that Maggie has a difficult relationship with physical contact, but they never directly discuss it. They don’t talk about why Maggie startles sometimes at unexpected contact, or why Maggie treats her girlfriend like she’s made of glass. Elena doesn’t push her, not with that, which is why it’s easy, in the end, to tell the truth.

“I’m a supe,” she says, about a month into dating. She’s so nervous her hands have started shaking, and her heart is racing in her chest. She’s expecting a rejection.

But Elena surprises her (always does) and says, “I know, babe.”

Maggie is stunned, confused, but mostly relieved. “How…how’d you find out?”

Elena gestures to the kitchen counter. “You left half a handprint in the granite a week ago when we were making out in the kitchen.”

“Seriously?” Maggie blinks at her. “Just that, and you figured it out?”

“Yup. Oh,” Elena says, trying to hide her smile. “And after our first date, I saw you on TV lifting a truck.”

Maggie can’t help it: she laughs.

* * * * *

The first time they’re together, Maggie is afraid to move. 

She’s hovering over Elena, chest heaving, and she just…freezes. Because for a moment, as she’s looking down at Elena, who is so beautiful and so exposed, she has an intense urge to forget about the risks and just fucking take her.

And that’s when she freezes. That’s when she stops, and all of the desire just...dissolves. Because Maggie has never wanted someone like this before, so much that she’s afraid she’ll lose control the second she touches this girl, and it’s paralyzing. 

“Hey.” Elena reaches up to brush back a lock of Maggie’s hair. “You doing okay?” 

She’s so warm and open, eyebrows furrowed in concern, and Maggie likes her so much it physically aches. 

“Yeah,” Maggie breathes, nodding frantically. “I’m great. I just…I’m-”

Maggie sits back on her heels, her heart racing, and tries to remember how to breathe. Elena sits up too, and quickly gathers Maggie in her arms. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Elena cradles the back of Maggie’s head and slowly rocks her back and forth. “You’re okay, just breathe. I’m right here. Just try to breathe for me.”

Maggie takes in one shuddering breath after another, tries to copy the rise and fall of Elena’s shoulders. She’s trembling all over (when did that happen?) and Elena continues to murmur soft reassurances against the shell of her ear until she gets control of her breathing.

“Hey.” Elena pulls back to look at her; there is affection in her gaze, but also some worry. “What just happened?”

Maggie hangs her head. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles. 

“Hey, don’t apologize.” Elena takes Maggie’s face in her hands. “Just talk to me. I can’t help if you won’t talk to me.”

She’s right, but Maggie isn’t sure how to explain it, how to make her understand the fear that is clawing at her from the inside. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Maggie.” Elena smiles at her. “You’ve been with plenty of people. And as far as I know, they all made it out alive, right? No broken bones or decapitations?”

Maggie shakes her head. “This is different.”

“Why?” Elena squeezes her hands, waits for an answer that doesn’t come. “Did I do something? Mags, whatever it is, we can-”

“You’re different,” Maggie says. “It was mostly hookups before you, but…it’s just different.”

She isn’t making much sense, but Elena understands her anyway.

“You care about me,” she says. “So you’re afraid of losing control.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Elena says, giving her hands another squeeze. “So we’ll figure it out. One step at a time.”

Maggie swallows thickly. “I’m scared.”

“I know.” Elena rubs a soothing hand along her bicep. “So we’ll go slow, okay? And I’ll let you know if anything hurts.”

Maggie nods, surprises herself with how implicitly she trusts Elena with this. She’s not sure when that happened, when she lowered her guard long enough to make a connection with someone that is this rich and deep, but she has. 

“Y’know, when we’re anxious, it helps to focus on something else,” Elena says. “Is it okay if I talk to you?”

Maggie nods haltingly. “Okay.”

She lets Elena ease her onto her back, feels the press of her lips against her jaw. And then Elena starts to speak softly, her lips close to Maggie’s ear. 

“The first time I saw you,” she murmurs, hands wandering from Maggie’s waist to the curve below her breasts; Maggie screws her eyes shut. “You were bundled up in winter clothes, wearing that ridiculous grey beanie. I thought you were so cute.” 

“This doesn’t sound like dirty talk,” Maggie points out. “And I’m not cute.”

She can feel Elena smile against the shell of her ear. Her hands begin to wander lower, and as Maggie’s breath hitches, Elena starts speaking again.

“You were so bad at flirting,” she says. “And you seemed so serious. But I liked you right away.”

Elena rocks against her, and Maggie grips her arm without realizing it. 

“Too tight,” Elena murmurs.

Maggie quickly releases her, her heart sinking. But when she opens her eyes, ready to apologize, Elena is smiling down at her reassuringly. 

“Don’t worry,” she says. “You’re doing great.”

* * * * *

It’s Sunday. Elena is sitting cross-legged on her couch, working on the New York Times crossword. She’s really good at them, though she’ll occasionally ask Maggie to help her, an obvious front so that Elena can snuggle up against her as she thinks. 

Maggie lingers in the doorway, transfixed as Elena tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and chews on the end of her pen. She’s still wearing last night’s pajamas, and her nose scrunches up in the most adorable way as she struggles with one of the clues. Maggie wants to kiss her. 

“You’re staring,” Elena says, eyes still trained on her crossword. “It’s creepy.”

“I can’t help it,” Maggie admits. “You’re just that hot.”

It earns her a laugh, and Elena finally looks up at her; she lowers her voice so it’s husky and seductive. 

“Yeah, does this do it for you? Flannel pants and a sweatshirt?”

“Oh, definitely. Throw in some fuzzy socks and that ugly pink bathrobe and the fantasy’s complete.”

“Okay, watch it,” Elena says, holding up a finger. She’s trying to sound stern, but she’s doing a terrible job of hiding her smile. “I will have you know, that ugly bathrobe is really comfortable.”

Maggie walks over to her and straddles her lap. “You’re hot in everything,” she says. “Even that ratty bathrobe.”

Maggie tries to kiss her, but Elena is smiling too much to return it. So Maggie just leans forward, eyes closed, and rests her forehead against Elena’s. They stay like that for a bit, enjoying the closeness.

“Hey,” Elena says. “We should do something later. Maybe have a picnic.”

“Sure,” Maggie says. “Whatever you want.” 

The phone rings from four feet away, and Maggie jumps up to get it, leaving the safety of their cocoon. 

“Hello? Yeah, this is Maggie Shaw.”

Elena watches her from the couch, listens to her say “yes”, “yes,”, then “no, of course”. And when the conversation is over, she turns towards her girlfriend, who is now looking up at her expectantly, and says,

“I got into the Seven. I start on Monday.”

Elena’s mouth falls open, and then she laughs brightly and stands up to throw her arms around Maggie’s neck. “Holy shit, that’s amazing! I’m so proud of you.” 

Elena’s excitement is infectious. She presses lots of kisses to Maggie’s face until Maggie can’t help but smile, too.

* * * * *

Her image is everything, Stillwell says. Queen Maeve is a symbol, an icon, the only female member of the group, so she must be the ultimate woman. And as it turns out, being a superhero involves a lot of publicity and pandering. It also requires a costume that reveals an unnecessary amount of skin, but Maggie is so nervous and excited about joining the Seven that she agrees to everything they say. (Even if some of it sounds like straight-up bullshit.)

She doesn’t tell anyone at Vought about Elena. But she does ensure that she and Elena are more discreet from thereon out. No more picnics, no more dinners, no more walks through the park. Elena doesn’t like it, but Maggie insists it is only temporary.

* * * * *

Her first patrol is with Homelander, which seems like a lucky draw. He’s a bit full of himself, sure, but he’s also the only guy on the team who hasn’t made a pass at her or lobbed some sexist joke her way, so. Needless to say, Maggie is pretty fucking relieved when Stillwell pairs them together for a routine drug bust. 

On their way to the location, they walk in companionable silence. But after ten minutes or so, Homelander clears his throat and strikes up a brief conversation.

“It’s been a while since the team has had a female hero,” he says, his boots crunching against some broken glass. “I promise, the shine will wear off soon.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Our teammates,” he says. “They’ll stop harassing you eventually.”

She scoffs. “Unlikely.” 

“Then I’ll have a word with them.”

“Thanks,” Maggie says tightly. “But I can handle myself. Bulletproof, remember?”

Homelander cracks a smile, a real one. “Right.”

* * * * *

Maggie saves a bus full of kids, every single one of them, and shatters every bone in her arm. Elena sees the whole thing on the news and pulls her into a hug the moment she gets home. She examines Maggie’s arm, which has since healed, and blinks back tears.

“Don’t do that again,” Elena says.

“What, save a bunch of kids?”

Elena is unamused. 

“Hey.” Maggie pulls her close, wraps her arms around Elena’s waist and hugs her. “I’m fine, I promise.”

Elena relaxes in her arms. “I know you’re a supe, but I still worry.”

“I know.”

After dinner, Elena slips on a rug and Maggie catches her before she hits the ground. 

“Thanks,” she says with a laugh. “God, one day you’re gonna get sick of saving me.”

“No,” Maggie promises. “I won’t.”

* * * * *

After the bus incident, Homelander takes quite a shine to her. She often catches him watching her during team meetings, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and she can’t help but notice his fond smile whenever she says something particularly scathing to a teammate or to a member of the marketing crew. It’s a bit unsettling, but she waits a couple of weeks before she mentions it to Elena. 

Maggie’s sitting at their kitchen counter, watching her girlfriend work their modest stove. It’s kind of incredible, really, the ease with which Elena switches between one sizzling pan and another. Maggie didn’t grow up with a lot of home-cooked meals, and it never bothered her much, but now she understands the draw. Every time she eats Elena’s food she thinks ‘safe’ and ‘love’ and ‘home’. 

“He won’t stop staring at me,” Maggie says. “It’s like every time I look up, he’s there, watching me.”

“Sounds like he’s got a crush,” Elena teases, without a trace of jealousy. “Poor guy.” 

Maggie slides off of her stool and rounds the counter to hug Elena from behind. She presses a soft kiss to her shoulder. 

“You’re not worried I’ll start crushing, too?”

Elena actually laughs. “Oh, honey, no.” 

“Why not?” Maggie is smiling now, too, enjoying the levity. “He’s good-looking. For all you know, we’ve been hooking up for weeks.”

“Yeah…” Elena switches off the burners. “No way.”

“But how do you know for sure?” Maggie’s arms are still wrapped snugly around Elena’s waist, and she gives Elena a gentle, playful squeeze. “We could be secret lovers.”

Elena turns in her arms to face her, unconvinced. “You might not always express yourself out loud, but your face gives you away. I would know if something was up.”

Maggie smiles; Elena is right, knows all of her tells. Maggie leans down slightly to kiss her, and lingers for a few perfect moments before she pulls away.

“I’m sorry,” Maggie says. “That I don't always tell you things. About...how I feel.”

Elena brushes her nose against Maggie’s. “Don’t worry. I know the important stuff.”

“So you know that I…?” That I love you. 

Elena smiles softly. “Of course I know. God, sometimes, the way you look at me…” She shakes her head and tries to hide her smile. “Never mind.”

“What?” Maggie is curious. “How do I look at you?”

Elena points to Maggie’s face. “Like that.”

“Like what?” Maggie tugs playfully at her hands. “Tell me.”

“Like you love me,” Elena says simply. “Like…like I’m your world.”

Maggie shrugs her shoulders. “You are.”

* * * * *

She and Homelander become a popular twosome in the public eye, so they are often paired together for patrol. Which is just fine, until they’re called in to assist with a hostage situation. One man, four hostages. It takes a while, but Maggie is able to establish a connection, to talk him down without any need for violence. And for a moment, Maggie feels that she’s done some good, without any need for violence. 

But just as he is handing Maggie his gun, Homelander turns his glowing red eyes on the man and incinerates his head and neck. What remains of him slumps and collapses onto the floor. 

“There,” he says, with a smile that is far too casual. “Problem solved.”

“But he wasn’t armed,” Maggie says, and for a moment she thinks she might be sick. “He was handing over the gun!” 

“Oh, yeah,” Homelander says, as he heads for the exit. “Pro tip: don’t waste time talking to the guy. It only drags it out.”

For the next twenty minutes, she listens to Homelander spin the story for the press and hand out empty platitudes insisting that they, the public, are the true heroes. It’s sickening, but when she reports the incident to Ms. Stillwell, it’s met with little surprise.

“Aren’t you going to do something?”

“He saved the hostages, didn’t he?” Stillwell says, wholly unbothered. “I don’t see the problem.”

Maggie can’t believe what she’s hearing. “But-”

“Remember your contract. The NDA you signed.”

It’s a threat, thinly veiled, and Maggie sets her jaw and leaves.

* * * * *

There are many revelations to come about her teammates, most of them negative, but she never shares any of it with Elena. Inevitably, it creates a rift between them, and she knows that Elena can sense that something’s off. But it takes a few months at her new job before it becomes too much to keep inside. 

The final straw is the kiss. Homelander corners her at the tower and shoves his tongue down her throat, pinning her wrists to the wall behind her. Maggie struggles against him with all of the strength that she has, but he is stronger. The realization makes her sick, and when he releases one of her wrists to palm at her breast, and grinds his crotch up against her, she thinks she might actually throw up. 

When he finally pulls back, and Maggie has a chance to breath, he grins widely.

“We make a great team,” he says. 

Maggie tries very hard not to vomit in front of him. (She makes it to the ladies’ room just in time and spends the next ten minutes dry heaving over a toilet bowl.)

That night, in the comfort of their bedroom, she tries to tell Elena about the Seven, about all of the crazy shit she’s experienced. And yeah, Maggie’s never been very good with words, at translating how she feels into something tangible, but there is something about Elena and the easy warmth of her smile that has always given Maggie the strength to try. 

“Elena?” 

They are lying in bed, in the soft glow of lamplight. Elena is reading the latest best-selling crime novel, wearing a pair of glasses that Maggie has always found incredibly sexy. When Maggie says her name, Elena hums in acknowledgement, but doesn’t look away from her book. 

So Maggie tries again, heart in her throat, this time with some urgency. “Elena. I’m trying to… would you please just put the fucking book down?”

The last few words rise in volume, and Elena’s focus quickly shifts, her eyebrows furrowing with a gentle concern that Maggie probably doesn’t deserve. She’s finding it hard to maintain eye contact.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” Elena reaches for her hands. “Are you-”

“What if I leave?” Maggie asks. “The Seven, it’s…what if it’s too much for me?”

“Mags, what-” 

“You don’t know what it’s like there, what they…”

She can’t talk about Homelander. She wants to, wants to tell Elena everything, but she is too ashamed. Ashamed that she let him kiss her, ashamed that she let him touch her like that. 

Elena’s gaze turns impossibly soft. “Maggie.”

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this, I don’t-”

“Hey,” Elena takes Maggie’s face in her hands, which makes it impossible to hide from her. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t.”

“Maggie.” Elena looks at her with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. “I can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s wrong. Please, just talk to me. Did something happen at Vought?”

“I…” Maggie tries to speak, but there is too much emotion welling up inside of her for any concrete thoughts to form. Instead, for the first time in a long while, her face screws up and she starts to cry. It starts off silent, a few tears spilling down her cheeks. But soon her silent cries turn to sobs, (raw, guttural) that wrack violently through her chest. 

“Hey, woah,” Elena says, with some alarm. “It’s okay, you’re okay. C’mere.”

Maggie allows herself to be pulled into a hug, and as she struggles for breath, Elena whispers gentle reassurances and presses the occasional kiss to Maggie’s cheek. And Maggie clings to her, wants to feel safe in the comfort of her arms, but just doesn’t anymore. Feels like her life is not her own, now that it belongs to a corporation, now that Homelander has staked his claim.

Eventually, she’s able to slow her breathing, and the sobs fade into soft sniffles.

“You smell really good,” Maggie murmurs from the crook of Elena’s neck. 

It’s a lame attempt to lighten the mood, especially when her voice still quavers when she speaks. She pulls back from Elena and wipes at her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

“You know I would still love you,” Elena tells her. “Even if you quit the Seven. Even if you weren’t Queen Maeve. It wouldn’t change anything”

“Promise?” Maggie whispers, the tears threatening to return.

Elena looks like she might start crying, too. “Oh, baby, of course I promise.”

* * * * *

Maggie walks into Stillwell’s office and announces that she’s quitting the team. 

“You still have eighteen months left on your contract,” Stillwell says. “If you don’t honor that, Vought will take action. They’ll sue you, destroy your reputation, launch a media campaign to-”

“I don’t care what you do to me,” Maggie snaps. “I just want out.”

Stillwell studies her for a moment, considers her options, and then lays out a plan. She will release Queen Maeve from the Seven if she completes the next few months and agrees to give up her severance package. Maggie is incredibly relieved.

“Thank you,” she says. “Thank you, I…thanks.”

She spends the next few months avoiding Homelander. Whenever she sees him, she forces a smile, tries not to appear terrified. He tells her that her heart beats faster when he’s around, clearly assumes that she is wildly attracted to him. Maggie goes along with whatever he says, flirts a bit if she must, but tries to stay out of reach, tries to always hang out in public spaces where he can’t corner her again. 

She has one week left on the contract, just one week, when she screws up and eats her lunch in the meeting room, alone. Homelander walks in and she startles, watches with a sense of dread as he turns the lock on the door. Maggie stands up, wonders if it’s suicide to try to run. Homelander moves closer, and his smile is playful, predatory, a touch unhinged. 

He grabs her by the waist and kisses her, and Maggie stiffens. He must not notice that she isn’t returning the kiss, that everything about her body language is closed off. Homelander shifts, turns her around and bends her over the table. Maggie tries to imagine she’s somewhere else, but his fingers dig so hard into her hips that she can only focus on the pain.

It’s fast, no more than a few minutes. It’s pathetic, Maggie thinks fleetingly, but mostly she is focused on the pain, inside and along her waist and her wrists, and her own humiliation. She bites down on her lower lip to keep from crying as Homelander stands up straight and collects himself. She bites so hard she draws blood.

Maggie stands up, too, and despite everything, turns around and manages a smile.

“We’re gonna be great together,” Homelander says. “The two most powerful supes in the world.”

“Yeah,” Maggie chokes out. 

“See you at the Oscar party tonight.” He presses a kiss to her cheek. 

Maggie wants to kill him.

* * * * *

The Oscar party is fine, nothing particularly special. A producer switches place cards to sit next to her and eagerly chats her up the entire night. He’s a big fan of Queen Maeve, clearly has a crush, and sweet and friendly enough that Maggie indulges him. If she’s in character, if she’s Queen Maeve, nobody can touch her, nobody can take advantage of her, or force her into sex. 

Not sex, Maggie thinks. It was rape. I was raped.

The next day she sees an article in the paper. That same producer is dead, and when Homelander catches her reading the article, he wraps a possessive arm around her waist.

“It’s a shame,” he says. 

There’s no escape, Maggie thinks. But I have to protect her.

(That afternoon, she meets with Stillwell and renews her contract with the Seven.)

* * * * *

After Elena leaves, after all of the tears and the lies and the angry pleas to just tell her what the hell is going on, to tell her if she’s fucking someone else, Maggie hits up the first liquor store she can find. One addiction leads to another, and soon she is smoking, too, and vaping, and clouding her mind so she doesn’t think about dark hair and safety and gentle arms wrapped around her. 

It works, for the most part. The pain is dulled, though it never quite dies away, and Maggie hardens herself against everyone around her. She becomes Maeve, creates a persona that can survive anything, a woman who is unafraid, who can stand up to Homelander, who doesn’t tremble every time he touches her.

Years go by, and Maeve buries those old feelings, hides them away so she never has to face them. She saves people every day, and it’s a good sensation, but Maeve doesn’t feel it all the way through. 

Then Starlight shows up and blows the lid off of everything.

It’s annoying and stupid.

(It’s also brave.)

* * * * *

It is the hijacked plane that ultimately breaks her. 

She ends up on Elena’s doorstep, didn’t even think it through, just had a few drinks and wandered over on instinct. Elena is rightfully caustic and unimpressed with her behavior, but when Maeve finally sheds her skin and Maggie sinks to the floor with a moan, Elena is right there with her.

Elena holds her as she cries, talks to her, gives her soft encouragements. It’s all so familiar, and Maggie can’t get enough of it, enough of her. 

I love you, Maggie thinks. I love you more than anything.

She leans in for a kiss, but Elena pushes her back.

* * * * *

Elena is in the hospital. It’s Maggie’s worst fear, really, because the woman she loves could have died. She didn’t, but she could have, and it never even occurred to Maggie that there were other, more human threats to her well-being, that Homelander’s laser beams aren’t the only thing that could kill her. 

Elena could die tomorrow, or in a week, and Maggie will have sacrificed their time together for nothing. It’s what ultimately pushes her to tell Elena the truth; that, and she is getting far too tired of pretending, of being isolated from all of her emotions. 

“I don't want you to hate me anymore.”

Elena is on the verge of tears. “Maeve…” 

“Please don’t call me that.”

Elena presses her lips together; a tear rolls slowly down her cheek. “Did you really cheat on me? With Homelander?”

Maggie averts her gaze, doesn’t want to revisit old wounds. She isn’t drunk enough to discuss this.

“Maggie, just tell me.” 

The sound of her name pulls her back, and she supposes Elena deserves to know. 

Maggie slowly shakes her head. “He raped me.”

Elena inhales sharply, and Maggie stares resolutely down at the bedspread as Elena cries softly to her right. 

“Why-” Elena sniffles, wipes away her tears with the back of her hand. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I couldn’t let him hurt you,” Maggie says. “I couldn’t risk you.”

“You can’t save me from everything.”

Maggie shrugs helplessly. “I can try.”

* * * * *

Starlight keeps trying to appeal to Maggie’s morality.

“What Vought’s doing is wrong.”

Just like Starlight to state the obvious as though it’s some sort of grand revelation. Maggie wonders briefly if she was ever so insufferable at that age; she was certainly idealistic, empathetic, too, but never so goddamned naïve. 

She thinks briefly of Elena, of the producer killed in his office. 

“Let it go,” Maggie tells her.

Starlight refuses, calls her a disappointment, says that Maeve isn’t an inch the person she idolized as a girl, and it stings, but it isn’t exactly right. Because she was that person, for a long time, longer than Annie probably thinks. Maggie wants to explain to her that nothing is simple, that sometimes doing the right thing means losing yourself so that someone else can live. 

Starlight keeps scheming, keeps throwing herself in front of murderous psychos. And for some reason she’ll never quite understand, Maggie keeps on rescuing her. And after Elena sees the evidence of her worst crimes and leaves her, Starlight has the balls to show up to her flat and ask for more.

“I saved your fucking life. Haven’t I done enough?”

Starlight flinches, and Maggie is reminded of the flipped table, Elena’s shriek, and wonders if she’ll ever stop hurting people, if she’s really a monster after all.

(When the time comes to take sides, Maggie stands with Starlight, and Homelander is bested. And it isn’t much, won’t bring Elena back to her, but it makes her feel like less of a villain.)

* * * * *

The press conference lasts an hour or so. Afterwards, they head back to the tower. Starlight finds Maggie leaning over the balcony, staring out at the city.

“This is everything we wanted, right?” Maggie murmurs, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. “The fucking dream.”

Starlight shrugs. “I guess now there are new things I want.”

“Like the twink.”

“Yeah, Hughie,” Starlight says. “But also…I want to take down Vought from the inside. I want to expose all of it. Do some real good.”

Maggie responds with the usual scoff, though lately her exasperation with Annie’s unwavering optimism is almost fond. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

“How about you?”

“What about me?”

“What do you want?” Starlight asks. “Now, I mean.”

Maggie stares off at the New York skyline, flush with the pinks and oranges of late afternoon. “Right now, I want a cigarette.”

* * * * *

Starlight introduces her to the team, and it is the most rag-tag, haphazard group of delinquents she has ever worked with. So, not all that different from the Seven. 

Starlight talks about her like she’s some kind of epic savior. Maggie wants to tell her she’s delusional, but then Starlight grins at her like they’re friends, like she’s the world’s most awesome older sister, and Maggie can’t quite bring herself to say it. 

Twink barely speaks to her, but whenever they lock eyes, he manages a shy smile. Maggie never smiles back, but she also hasn’t actively cursed him out recently or blown smoke directly in his face, so she figures it’s sort of an upgrade. 

MM takes a liking to her right away, while Frenchie and Kimiko are cautiously polite. Butcher isn’t the type to trust a supe, doesn’t even seem to trust Starlight or Kimiko all that much, but he doesn’t try to cross her. 

It’s a tense sort of partnership, but it beats sitting at home and drinking until she pukes. They’ve got their fingers in the FBI, in political offices, in Vought itself. They compile information and work to bring Vought down. They’re trying to make a positive change in the world.

Maggie reluctantly gets on board. She feeds them intel, gives them updates on Vought if she can, but she keeps her personal life to herself. She never mentions Elena to members of the crew, but apparently Starlight takes the initiative and fills everyone in. 

Maggie doesn’t catch Starlight saying anything, but after a week or so, the other members of the team start regarding her with a peculiar level of sympathy, and she figures there can only be one explanation. 

“Stop fucking talking about my relationship.”

Starlight bites her lip. “My bad.”

* * * * *

Maggie is on her way to the group hideout. It’s a basement, and the shop above is a cover, a sneaker store or something. When she approaches the main entrance to the shop, someone gently touches her arm. Maggie jerks, turns her head, feels her heart swell. 

“Elena.” She takes a step back. “Hi, what are you…?”

“Maggie, hi.” Elena smiles nervously. "Can we talk?"

Hope rises, dangerous and sweet. And it's crazy, but just seeing Elena make her feel more alert and alive than she has in months. 

In the silence, Elena fidgets, adjusts the purse on her shoulder; Maggie has never seen her so unsure. Her first instinct is to fix it, save Elena from those unpleasant rumblings in her mind, but Maggie isn't sure it's her place. Or maybe it is again, now that Elena is here and exposed and looking at Maggie like she has the power to break her or to make her whole again. But Maggie is afraid to overstep.

She reaches for Elena's hand and gives it a tentative squeeze. 

"Sure. We can talk."

A beat, and then Elena squeezes back.


End file.
